


Wrong

by Belle_Evans



Category: due South
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post Vegas AU, rough sex (implied)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 04:56:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11752491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belle_Evans/pseuds/Belle_Evans
Summary: Prompt #57 (AU) Fraser had been framed for the murder of Gerard, on the run in America; he's pursued by hard nosed Ray Vecchio. Can he prove his innocence - and his love - to the man sworn to bring him in?





	Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Original author's note: Um... this fic is prompt inspired which means it's not exactly the prompt. This is the bunny that came and this is the bunny that sat in the corner twitching its nose.
> 
> When I first started writing fic, especially due South , I posted all over the place. Now I'm trying to gather them in one place. This one I think was for the ds_harlequin lj community. This is probably circa May 2007
> 
> Vegas flashbacks are in italics.

As Ray Vecchio moved his car through the familiar streets of the city, he couldn’t shake the feeling that had plagued him since his return from Nevada. Somehow, even though he had come back the hero as he expected, he’d also managed to come back wrong. With one foot back in the two seven and the other still with the FBI, the Detective could feel himself losing his balance, slipping, like before Vegas. Each day since he’d been back, the pull to the wrong side of everything was strong. The pull to just let go dogged him. 

Late night drives, sealed up in the Riv, were the only times that he could allow himself to really think about Vegas. To think about the parts he had no choice but to withhold during the extensive Fed debriefing. It was all on the verge of going to hell and he had no idea how to fix it.

**************

The Feds had wanted the Detective badly. He’d waffled. It was the Feds; he had to as a matter of principle. At the time, he hadn't had many principles, so he'd worked that one. When they said they could get IAD off his back, give him a clean slate, he’d stopped the bullshit. Accepting the assignment had been all about that clean slate.

Three nights into the Nevada undercover, there was a soft knock on Armando Lagostini’s door either very late, or very early, in Vegas those things blurred. 

_“Your 3 o’clock is here sir,” Nero, Lagostini’s majordomo, said calmly. And Ray had had a moment of blood running cold, heart dropping unmitigated panic. He hadn’t made an appointment and there was nothing in the pre-assignment briefing about 3 a.m. meetings. He’d instructed Nero to give him a minute, a minute he used to change the clip in his gun._

_The Feds had never been able to get any quality surveillance into Armando Lagostini’s house. Security cameras covered every inch of the place. It was almost impossible for anyone not known to Lagostini to get on the property. His more serious meetings Lagostini had a tendency to hold in the desert._

_That third night in Vegas, he’d held the gun just behind his thigh as the door opened. A broad, tall, fair-haired man, wearing a white t-shirt and white jeans moved into the room carrying a massage table and a small duffle._

_“Hi Mr. Lagostini.” The man’s smile was toothy, dazzling. Ray’s grip had tightened on the gun. He watched closely as the man in white set up his table and then reached into the duffle._

Those were the moments when a cover went sideways. Later, it was more than clear why the ‘appointment’ was off the radar, but in that moment Ray Vecchio thought his cover had been blown.

**************

Looking around, Ray was startled to find that he was on Halstead. The familiar had somehow become unfamiliar. He almost brought his car to a dead stop in the middle of the street. In all his years, he'd had no reason to come to this part of town. And his mind tried to crawl away from the idea that there might be a reason for him to be here now. Two men holding hands caught his eye. Absently, he aimed the Riv in their direction and slipped into tailing them. Without warning, they suddenly ducked into the doorway of what looked like a club. Ray almost brought the car to a stop in the middle of the street again, but the blast of a horn behind him made him lurch forward, He nearly rear-ended the car in front of him.

“Shit.” The Detective inched the Riv up a few feet, then pulled over to the curb. Vecchio peered at his watch. It was late, almost last call late. Unsure exactly what to do, he idled for a few minutes. His eyes sought the men he’d been tailing, but they seemed to have disappeared. The sidewalks would be full of the drunk and disorderly soon and he had no desire to be any part of that, but he wasn’t quite ready to go home yet. 

Pulling away from the curb, he cruised down the street a little more until he spotted a place that had a very simple neon sign that flashed ‘bar’. Maybe he’d sit out last call inside the eye of the storm.

**************

The air in the small bar was hazy with legal and illegal substances. Through it all a broad red slash caught Vecchio’s eye. Honing in on the color, he peered through the smoke, and then his feet began to move completely independent of his brain. He was more than halfway across the room before he realized that he hadn’t cased the place. He’d left his gun and badge locked in the Riv’s trunk, but there was no excuse for not reading the entire room. Checking his stride, Vecchio took a moment to clock potential threats. There were a few characters whose sheets might have passed his desk at points in his career, but he was confident that no one had made him.

Resuming his stride, Vecchio crossed the room and slid easily into the booth, opposite a man in red, flannel as it turned out. And then he faltered slightly. In Vegas it came to him. In Vegas he got whatever he wanted or needed, when he wanted it or needed it. He hadn’t realized until he stepped into the bar a moment ago, just how much he needed.

The depth of it made it easier for him to forget that he had never done this before. The Detective shook off the momentary lapse in confidence. 

"I’m gonna buy you a drink."

The dark haired man, whose booth he had invaded, brushed his finger across his eyebrow and glanced down at the nearly empty glass in front of him. 

"I uh -"

Then his eyes darted toward the door. Ray's stomach did a little twist. He hadn't considered that the man might be with someone. Although, it would make sense. He was very much like the men that came to Lagostini. The difference, this man was touchable. It didn't matter if he was waiting for someone. Ray _needed_ and he needed tonight. 

"What are you drinking?"

The man's eyes fell to his glass again. He stared at it as though he had no idea what was in it. Ray picked up the glass and pressed it to his lips. He took a quick sip and almost spit it across the table.

His own eyes flicked to the door, then back to the man across from him.

"You the designated driver or something?"

Another eyebrow rub.

"Ah, no I don't uh drink alcohol."

"You with somebody?"

"No."

Ray stood. "Don't go anywhere."

Under the sharp knowing appraisal of the bartender, Ray ordered two seltzers. When he returned to the table, seltzers in hand, instead of taking his place across from the man, he slid in right next to him. Handed him the fresh glass.

"Thank you." The man said politely.

Ray leaned into him, a put his mouth close to the shell of the other man's ear as his hand fell to the man's muscular thigh. "You're welcome."

The man shivered beside Ray as he reached for his drink and gulped it down. 

"What's your name?"

"Fraser," he rasped. 

"Ray," Ray said as his lips almost touched the man's ear. His hand lightly stroked the muscular thigh underneath his hand.

"Would you like to come upstairs with me," the man croaked out unexpectedly.

"You live here?"

"I have a room”

Ray hadn't thought ahead that far. In the desert, he'd had a master suite the size of a small apartment. 

"Yeah, let's go."

*******************

_Ray lay tense on the massage table with a towel wrapped securely around his waist. Lagostini’s psych profile included documentation of bouts with paranoia. As the man in white went through what looked like legitimate preparation to give a massage, Ray figured he might be able to shove him against the wall and demand that he empty his pockets and his bag without blowing the cover. After a few fervent seconds, he rejected that idea in favor of waiting. Later he would wonder if choosing to give into the paranoia would have been the better decision._

_Under the masseur’s hands, Ray learned what it meant when someone had magic hands. He knew that he was tense, the nature of the assignment made it difficult to be otherwise, but he hadn’t known just how much until the masseur began his work. Ray could feel the muscles unknotting, becoming like water. He didn't even flinch when the deft fingers worked their way down to his buttocks and continued the massage. The hands remained professional and for a fleeting hazy second Ray wondered if he would have minded if they hadn’t._

_“Mr. Lagostini, you can turn over now.” Ray did so and the magic hands continued to work on him. His arms, his chest, smoothing down his stomach to –. He’d been so relaxed as he lay on his stomach, it hadn’t really registered that he was semi-aroused._

_“The usual, Mr. Lagostini,” the man asked smoothly. Ray couldn’t find his voice. He gave what he hoped was a short decisive Lagostini like jerk of the head. If this was how his cover was gonna get blown…_

_The man flashed him another dazzling toothpaste smile before he bent himself over Ray’s cock. It wasn’t his cover that was blown._

_Hours after the masseur’s departure, Ray kept expecting either a knock on the door from a rival family with video in hand saying they knew Lagostini was dead and that they had the proof. He also expected the Feds to show up screaming that he’d ruined the case and offering to help the Chicago police department bring him up on charges for some of his questionable pre-undercover activity. Neither of those things happened._

_Instead, Lagostini got visits a few times a week from a stunning man in white with a talented mouth to complement magic hands. That first time it helped that he’d already been pretty relaxed, because while he could cover his initial shock with non-verbal head jerks, other parts of his body would show the immediate effects of that unexpected shock. The relaxation made it easier to let go, but he never let himself touch. He didn’t think that Lagostini would have. It was the job of others to please him._

_And though the desire to be a full participant with another man was awakened in him, in that year of undercover, Ray never slipped._

**************

He pressed the man's arms, Fraser’s arms, over his head, against the door of his room and applied pressure. Enough to grind the bones a little, enough to communicate what he wanted. With a final squeeze for emphasis, Ray's hands slid from the man's wrists down his raised arms to his torso. Vecchio’s mouth never faltered in its focused exploration of Fraser's skin. Fraser had understood the hint and not lowered his hands to touch as before.

Relief bloomed in the Detective as his desire ratcheted. After a year of holding everything in check, finally the chance to taste, to touch, to assuage the things he was unable to talk about. 

He would never know what it would have been like to have reached out for one of Lagostini's boys. He couldn't imagine that it would have been better than what was happening right now.

**************

Fraser hadn’t resisted anything Ray did. The evidence was all over his back. Vecchio hadn't remembered holding on tight enough to leave the marks on Fraser's hips, hadn't remembered driving his nails deep enough to leave the red marks he recognized as scratches, and hadn't remembered his teeth marking the man's shoulders and neck. With the edge of his need dulled, shrieks of horror reverberated in Vecchio's head. Through cop vision he saw an assault. If it had been a woman -

Vecchio swallowed hard against sudden bile and watched as Fraser's body slowly turned. Unable to look at his face just yet, the Detective's eyes found themselves level with more evidence. He breathed in sharply at the livid bite marks around Fraser's nipples.

Movement caught Vecchio's eye and he looked up. Watched as Fraser completed the motion of bringing his arms down. Arms that had remained above his head throughout what Ray had done to him. Arms that hadn't been bound by physical restraints. Arms that were attached to hands strong enough to - .

"Ray." Vecchio's eyes darted from the well muscled arms to the smokey, uncondemning eyes. His gaze tracked as Fraser's tongue darted out of the corner of his mouth, moistened his lips. The invitation implicit, Ray took an absent step forward and almost fell on his face.

When they'd started, he’d gotten Fraser completely undressed, but had only gotten as far as pushing his own pants and underwear to mid-thigh before his lust took over. 

"Perhaps you would like to make yourself more comfortable," Fraser suggested matter of factly, as though he hadn’t been mauled. He took a step toward Ray. Without hesitation, the Detective kicked out of his shoes. As he stepped out of the rest of his clothes, he reached for Fraser and latched onto his kiss swollen and bitten mouth. 

Fraser moved them toward his bed. Just as Ray felt the backs of his knees hit, he flipped them so they landed with him on top. Meeting no resistance at this change of position, Vecchio pressed his naked re-aroused body against the length of the one beneath him. The deep moan of pleasure this elicited lay to rest any lingering apprehension the Detective felt because of what he’d done before. With the evaporation of the tension, Vecchio rocked into the cradle Fraser made of his thighs and prepared to have him again.

**************

After, they lay pressed side to side on the narrow bed. Fraser on his stomach, Ray on his back, both panting as though they'd run a marathon. Vecchio was sweaty, more than a little sticky and he didn’t care. The temptation to drift into sleep was strong, but he didn’t want to worry his ma. Like everyone else she looked at him like a hero, but unlike the others he’d caught her watching him a couple times with something else in her eyes as well. There was sadness, like she knew Ray had come back wrong. Ray didn’t want to do anything to let her know she was right.

“I gotta go.”

There was slight movement on the bed, but Ray kept his back turned as he stood and started to retrieve his clothes. Unsure what to expect, he dressed without looking at the bed. 

Completely dressed, with his hand on the doorknob, Vecchio took a quick glance at the bed and felt a near overwhelming urge to strip off all the clothes he’d just put on. 

Fraser’s pale, marked backside was exposed to Vecchio’s gaze again and this time he savored it, reveling in the secret knowledge of what they had done and a weird pride. He’d never really given in to the idea that a man could be beautiful until Las Vegas. And now that was the only word he could find to describe the sight on the bed. 

It took him just a few seconds more of watching to realize that the other man was asleep. With a last look for his memories, Vecchio opened the door and slipped into what remained of the night. 

 

In the week following his one night stand, Vecchio felt less wrong. At the request of the FBI, he conducted one on one sessions with a couple of regular cops who had actually volunteered to work undercover with the Feds. They picked Ray’s brain to pieces. Afterwards, he was exhausted, but it was exhaustion underscored with a sense of accomplishment. He was even able to do some work at the two seven although it chafed. The year as a crime boss, the guy of all the guys made it a hard to take orders, made it easier to do things his own way. With the Feds it wasn’t quite as bad. As a consultant, he could come and go. But it was still the Feds and he couldn't seem himself sticking around once all the indictments were handed down. He respected Welsh, so he was making an effort to hang in with the two seven. That week after Fraser, he felt like maybe he could.

In that same week, he caught himself looking at men of a certain type, imagining what it would be like to have them underneath him. Apparently the switch flipped in Vegas was going to stay flipped. And Ray had a moment sealed up in his car, in the small hours of the morning, to let that revelation settle in his soul. Unlike the bodies buried in the desert, this part of Vegas wasn't going to stay there. And Ray Vecchio began to think that if that was the case, he might need to take a page from Lagostini’s book. He might need a regular lay.

By the end of the second week, after Vecchio had nearly beaten a murder suspect to within an inch of his life, he found himself on Halstead again.

This time he remembered to case the bar first. As his eyes swept looking for suspects, they lit on Fraser and settled. He’d already considered and discarded the idea that Fraser was a whore. Falling asleep without getting paid was a whore no, no. It made some sense that he was the bartender. Management was probably more than a little thrilled to get a bartender who was both pretty and not likely to dip into the stash. As the Detective watched, Fraser poured a drink for a fiftyish patron who watched him with avid interest. Vecchio figured Fraser probably made good enough tips without having to be on his back. The incongruity made the Detective wonder that he’d actually scored the guy. Putting on a little bit of Lagostini, he approached the bar to see if lightning would strike again. 

Fraser looked up from taking another order and looked right at Ray. There was a quick flutter of what Ray thought might be panic. Then Fraser held up his finger to indicate that he would be with Ray in just a minute.

Last call was announced shortly thereafter. It was more than a minute before, rag in hand, Fraser wiped down the bar toward the end where Ray was. He leaned towards Ray and Ray met him halfway. Soft lips brushed against the shell of Ray’s ear as Fraser shouted over the noise. 

“I can meet you upstairs in twenty minutes.” Fraser leaned back and stared at Ray’s mouth before lifting his eyes. With a quick nod, Ray agreed.

Twenty-three minutes later, propped against the wall outside Fraser’s door, Ray watched as his fantasy walked briskly toward him. “I’m sorry to be late.” Ray glanced at his watch then back at the other man who watched him with a mixture of solemnity and lust.

“Open the door.”

“Oh, understood, Right.” Ray watched as Fraser fumbled a little with the key as he opened the door to his room. Following close on his heels, he grabbed Fraser and like the first time pinned him to the door.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met a bartender who didn’t drink,” Ray husked out as he pressed himself against Fraser. 

“I am told there is a first time for everything,” came the suddenly breathless reply as Fraser raised his arms over his head.

“So beautiful,” Ray murmured as he unbuttoned Fraser’s shirt to reach what was freely offered. Lowering his head he took a nipple between his teeth and pulled gently. He almost lost his balance when Fraser bucked hard against him and moaned urgently, “bed.”

 

**********************

 

Five o'clock in the morning. Vecchio sat idling at a red light on a mostly deserted street. There was no temptation to roll through the light. Instead, he slouched contentedly with a satisfied smile on his lips and little on his mind except Fraser's ass. It had been about six weeks since that first night he found Fraser in the bar. Three weeks since he'd gone to Fraser for the second time.

Tonight had been like all the nights since then. Satisfying. They'd gotten themselves into a certain routine. Sometimes Ray would show up in the bar at last call, but mostly he would time it so that he could be at Fraser's door right when he finished at the bar. The shift in Fraser's expression from uncertainty to desire when he saw Ray waiting, never failed to turn him on. 

Although, they'd been together almost every night in the last three weeks, the intensity of the encounters hadn't lessened. Fraser's bed was small, but they'd managed to turn that into an advantage. His smile widened and he gave the very slightest of mental nods again to Lagostini. The mob boss might have been crazy, but that didn't mean sometimes he wasn't crazy like a fox.

Vecchio didn't know if there was such a thing as afterplay, but he'd been leaving Fraser's place later and later because of it. Each night when he first saw Fraser, they got right down to business. Afterwards, lying beside Fraser on the narrow space of the bed, he took his time. 

Fraser's skin was so soft and warm that the Detective got lost in the sensation as his hand stroked across the man's back. As his hand smoothed across the skin, his tongue mapped the knobs of Fraser's spine to just above the rise of his ass. The first time Ray had simply flicked his tongue lightly right at the top of the separation. Underneath him, Fraser's relaxed body suddenly tensed and he moaned. Ray's cock twitched. He didn't think it was going to do much more than that, since he'd already fucked Fraser pretty thoroughly. Pushing his tongue a little deeper along the crease resulted in a broken sounding, please. Ray hadn't allowed himself to really think about what he was doing, he simply pushed lower until he was at Fraser's opening. He'd wiped them both down after the first go round and the faint aftertaste of wet fabric met his tongue. He pushed just a little and Fraser's please became a low chant. That reaction trumped any apprehension; Vecchio might have had as he pushed his tongue deeper inside. Using the reaction of the body underneath him as his guide, Ray worked Fraser over as thoroughly with his tongue as he had with his cock. In the nights since that night, after the main show, Ray spent a fair amount of time paying tribute to Fraser's ass. 

 

Ray blinked out of the vision of Fraser's ass before him to find that the light was green. He hit the accelerator and shot through. It was too late for him to bother trying to fake that he'd spent the night at home. Lately Ma had been giving him looks that were weirdly pleased and disapproving at the same time. He figured it was just a matter of time before she started asking him who the girl was. His brain skittered away from the idea of any kind of conversation like that. Instead of heading the Riv home, he steered in the direction of his office. He'd needed a place that wasn't the precinct, or the Federal building or his house. 

The space itself was simple, like Fraser's room. There was a desk, a computer, some case files he'd snuck out of the two-seven for a deeper look, a small fridge and a good leather recliner very similar to one in Lagostini's study. 

Getting comfortable in his chair, Ray fired up the computer so that he could check his e-mail.

**********************

"What the fuck is this?" Ray stormed past a sleepy-eyed Fraser into his room. Backing up quickly, Fraser blinked furiously against his sleepiness and the sight of a Glock leveled at his head. It took another moment for Fraser's eyes to fully focus before they slid from Ray's gun to the piece of paper he held. Vecchio re-positioned the gun and stepped deep into Fraser's personal space, cutting off any avenue of easy escape.

"I _asked_ you a question." 

Vecchio watched as the gray-blue eyes flicked from the wanted poster he'd printed from an FBI alert e-mail to somewhere on the wall just beyond. It was a couple months old and despite the crisp uniform the man in the photo wore, despite the very precise regulation haircut, Ray had recognized Benton Fraser immediately. Benton Fraser.

“I’ve come to Chicago on the trail of my father’s killer. For reasons that -”

Ray cut him off.

“You and your father have different last names?”

“Ah, no. Gerard is not, was not my father. _My father_ was an honorable man.”

“So what you’re saying is that this dishonorable man, Gerard, killed your father and then you killed him. Kind of like a crime of passion. So all you –" 

“Gerard was a coward. He hired my father’s killer and I have followed the lead here. As Gerard was quite dishonorable, I suspect the actual killer, murdered him to insure his anonymity. I was given to understand that this, I mean to say the bar is an establishment he frequents. He was described to me as well built, with a distinctive nose. 

“You thought I was the killer. That’s why you - ”

“ _Well-built_ Ray.” 

Vecchio pressed on as if he hadn’t heard.

“You offer your tail to the killer and give it up to him so pretty that he just _confesses_. That was your plan? Or did you decide it might be better to have a cop in your pocket. A little blackmail ace in the hole maybe."

"I didn't -"

"Didn't what? Didn't know I was a cop?" He watched the Mountie, ex-Mountie sweep his thumb across his brow. Then Fraser bit his lip the same way he did when Ray slipped his hand between his legs and stroked him to completion. The Detective shook his head violently to dislodge that image. The time for that was gone. That time hadn't been real.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I figured it out,” Fraser said quietly, “but that’s not what _this_ is. It’s not why I lay down for you, with you. I think that you know that. ”

The Detective brought his gun up again.

“Turn yourself in.”

“I can’t do that Ray.”

“Of course you can. You walk into any precinct in this city with me and you turn yourself in. After all, you’re innocent right.”

“I _won’t_ do that.” 

The anger welling in Vecchio since his discovery of the wanted notice broke free. The element of surprise gave him the advantage as he suddenly shoved Fraser hard enough to put the other man off balance. Before the ex-Mountie could recover, he was pinned to the wall and handcuffed. 

Cuffs securely in place, the Detective yanked the fugitive around so that they were face to face. 

“ _If_ you don’t let yourself be taken into custody, this is gonna end badly Mountie.”

“My father has been murdered by and I have been betrayed by people both of us should have been able to trust. I have lost everything of value. What else is left?” He asked quietly.

"Son of a bitch," Ray gritted as he forced Fraser down into the room’s sole chair and re-handcuffed him to it. Without stopping or looking back, Vecchio slid his gun into his waistband and yanked open the door. He fled the room.

*******************

Standing at the edge of the lake, Ray screamed out angry frustration at the top of his lungs. Gazing out over the water, he wondered if there was some sort of cosmic plot to keep him from going straight. _Straight._ Suddenly he burst into laughter. He fell to his hands and knees, not caring about the ruin the sand made of his clothes as his body shook with the force of it.

Then just as abruptly, his breath hitched and the laughter strangled off into nothing. The momentary hysteria had knocked something loose in his head. Still on his hands and knees, with the sand digging through the fine material of his pants, Vecchio saw two things with crystal clarity. Armando Lagostini had had a short list of out of town hitters. The face of a local asshole that fit the fugitive Mountie's description flashed in Vecchio’s mind’s eye. The rap sheet was long, deadly and the holder, Frankie Drake, had pride of place on Lagostini’s list. It would have taken major balls and cash to pull off the kind of conspiracy Fraser hinted at. Frankie Drake & Armando Lagostini, a match made in hell. 

There was nothing Vecchio could remember from the scumbag's sheet to indicate he'd be anywhere on Halstead for anything. But, the rap sheet had enough hard time on it to suggest the man had to have at least a passing acquaintance with the kind of offer Ray figured Fraser had been willing to make. Maybe there was something more to the Lagostini/Drake association. Drake might have developed a taste. Ray certainly had. And in the end _maybe_ Drake would have confessed or given up something the Mountie could have used to exonerate himself.

The realization the Mountie might actually have been telling the truth twined itself around the second revelation. He needed Fraser’s version to be the truth. Until a few hours ago he’d thought that he was winning the fight against the wrong. Instead, he was on the verge of losing the entire war. 

"God, help me," Ray whispered. He'd been marked. Even without the sex, he could smell Fraser on him. Feel the ghost of the man's touch on his scalp, his face, his sex. His heart stuttered at the flash memory of Fraser murmuring, _You’re the only one who can touch me._

"God, help me." He moaned as he shoved his hands deeper into the sand.

**************

Still sandy and damp, the Detective pushed open the door to the fugitive's room, gun drawn. It didn’t surprise him in the least to find that Fraser wasn't in the chair or that his handcuffs were on the table. It did surprise Vecchio that Fraser was still in the room. Leaning against the window, Fraser’s arms were a barrier across his chest. He'd thrown on his red flannel shirt, but he hadn’t bothered to button it. A complex set of emotions tidal waved through Vecchio. He took another step into the room and kicked the door shut. The fugitive at the window didn’t flinch, but he spoke in a ragged near whisper.

“I let my loneliness make you a part of something that I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.” 

With great care, the Detective ejected the clip from his piece. He wavered for just a moment before putting both side by side on the table.

Stalking to the window, he planted himself in front of Fraser, but he couldn't bring himself to look at the other man's face. Not yet. Instead, he reached out and traced his finger around the edges and over the nub of Fraser's left nipple. It tightened underneath his fingers as Fraser’s breath hitched. That responsiveness had been Ray's Achilles heel from the beginning. He repeated the motion again and wasn’t disappointed in the reaction. 

“If you’re lying,” he heard the deadly menace of Armando Lagostini very plainly in his own voice, “you won’t have to worry about extradition,” And then he did lift his eyes to Benton Fraser’s, “because I _will_ kill you.”

Fraser’s breath caught again for just a second as he returned the intensity of his lover’s gaze.

“I understand Ray.” And then Fraser’s tongue flicked out to touch his upper lip the way it had that first night and Ray stepped into him and accepted the invitation.


End file.
